Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 146 No. 4 — page 55: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

2. ese cet ys ow ——a<« mm F . ° . to Fez. I have obtained a guide. Give me a spare horse, food, and water-skins.” The old Moor blinked again. He smelled something amiss, since this was not the proper state for an envoy. But he was mightily glad to be rid of Shaw, who might interfere with his own artistic lies to Rip- perda, and refused to inquire too close into Shaw’s purpose. Nor did he fail to note the inward agi- tation of Shaw. Putting one thing with another, he shrewdly guessed that this agi- tation was connected with the missing Spence. All his solicitude was for his own hoary head, however, so he sped his guests right courteously. Half an hour later Dr. Shaw and Mis- tress Betty, attended by the two Spahis, rode toward the western gate of the city. With Shaw, in front, was a rascally one- eyed Moor. He was not only the guide, but the cause of their precipitate departure. “You are certain you know the place?” said Dr. Shaw to the Moor. “ Aye, infidel,” growled the guide. “It is the tomb of Osman, half a mile from the city gates—a deserted spot, since the tomb has fallen into ruin.” Shaw drew back beside the girl, who watched him with anxious eyes. *T think it is all right,” he said. “ At least, it tallies with Spence’s note, and we must ‘trust the rascal. Let me study that note again, mistress.”’ “The girl handed him a paper, which he read over as he rode. It was a note in English, signed by Spence, telling Shaw to meet him outside the western gate at the tomb of Osman, and to make no delay. Spence stated that he was slightly wound- ed, had no horse, and dared not enter the city; that Mulai Ali was dead, and all their hopes gone. All this tallied only too well with what Shaw himself knew. As they neared the western gate, there came to them a distant sound of gunfire and a faint clamor of shouts. Shaw gave the girl a whimsical smile. This noise was the welcome to Ripperda, who was at that moment entering the city by the northern The gate behind them, the party rode to- _ ward the orchards and groves beyond the DOWN THE COAST OF BARBARY. 525 city. The Spahis were ahead, the guide between them; Shaw and Mistress Betty followed with the lead horse. In this order they entered the rich champaign and saw the city walls vanish. The timeliness of this departure, and the expected meeting with Spence, put Dr. Shaw into high good humor. His anxieties disappeared, and he discussed with the girl whether they should strike on for Fez or return to Algiers. In the midst of this cogitation the guide called back to inform him that the tomb of Osman lay ahead. This was the ruined tomb of some an- cient marabout, as the domed building tes- tified. A desolate garden surrounded the place, which was in ruinous disrepair. There was no sign of Spence to be seen, and Shaw strove to dissipate the uneasiness of his companion. ‘He may be sleeping somewhere near by,” he said, reassuringly. ‘“ At least, we can wait.” They drew near, and passed beneath the western wall of the old tomb, where there was shade from the morning sunlight. Shaw dismounted and gave his hand to the girl to help her from the saddle. At this instant the trap was sprung. The guide, with one lightning movement, plunged his long knife into the side of the nearest Spahi, then put spurs to his horse. The second Spahi whipped out his scimitar, and from the near-by trees came a ragged blast of muskets. Pierced by two bullets, the Spahi fell beside his dying comrade. Three men came running from the trees, joining the treacherous guide. So swiftly had all this taken place that both Shaw and the girl stood motionless, paralyzed by the rapid horror. Then, as the assassins ran forward, a cry broke from Shaw. “ Barbarroja!”’ Red-beard it was, brandishing his sword, who led the other ruffians. He came to a halt and grinned widely at Shaw, while his men seized the horses and plundered the dead Spahis. “Senor, I greet you! Behold, am I not a pretty writer of notes? It is not Spence.” “ Scoundrel!” cried the doctor in a stran- gled voice. “ You Heclidikette) recy)